


"Then he's very limited!"

by WordOfAll



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Inner Dialogue, POV Mycroft Holmes, The Final Problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 18:59:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9398636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordOfAll/pseuds/WordOfAll
Summary: What Mycroft thought when his mother was yelling at him, because he pretended Eurus is dead while she has been alive all the time.





	

It is as if he wasn't even hers. She yells at him with all the might of her maternal ire and a good dose of hypocrisy. As if it was any choice, really, to lock Euros up.

It is not even as simple as that. He knows, he has irrefutable DNA proof that he is, actually, the son of these two, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, who live in the red cottage near the end of the road and run the line dancing club. And yet - he always felt a bit distant as a child, as if he really was some kind of an alien living among them.

It was easier when they lived in Musgrave. Everything in there was weird - why would the eldest Holmes boy not be? And everything, everything there had a story. Chipped antique vases told the story of carefree maids who might be dead well over the century, for there was no personnel living with them in the house anymore and the vase was put on display behind the glass and unused for nearly as long. There were scratches in the wood, hidden meanings to the paintings, stories of all the people who ever left a trace in the house were merging and Mycroft loved it.

Now it is all gone, for a very long time. He wonders if there were more stories the house could have told him, stories he could have understand only as an adult and which were hidden to his childhood attempts to understand.

But it was weird, obviously, to spend hours examining the parquet floor in what used to be dancing room, and his mother lost no time to say so. It was weird to not talk to anyone, even if it was such effort to make them understand, even if he had no interest in talking to stupid people. So he reserved his explorations for the few hours his mother would be in her study and learned to talk to others in such a way that at least they would understand his meaning, even though he still might not have gotten his speech pattern quite right, judging by the occasional looks.

His father tried to teach him how to play football, and how to draw, and although he could kick the red ball around the garden awkwardly to please the father, drawing was a greater success. He knew he was quite clumsy, that somehow he could not do every movement his mind would perfectly know how to do as well as he would have liked. But drawing was good, he had an eye for detail and soon started documenting the weird little towers and coats of arms made of colored glass in the windows and the beautiful stairs in the back leading the way to the beach. Apparently, though, he was supposed to draw people.

And then, after a time of great anger between his parents, and he knew then as he knows now that it was caused by an affair his father had, they approached him and asked whether he would like a brother or a sister. "Why not?" he stated thinking that perhaps this time, they will get what they want. A normal child, someone more suited to their temperament.

In the end they had two more. And, as Mycroft coldly stated sometime when Eurus started behaving weirdly, they managed to produce two freaks out of three children. Perhaps, they should not tempt their genes anymore. It was a very mean thing to say, he was told.

Sometime over the years of living with a developing psychopath, he got fat. He did not notice it at first, stupid, really, that he was eating too much, trying to calm himself, trying to dull the sense of danger he had around his sister. He was scared, though. Not for himself - he did not matter much, except to little Sherlock, who gave away his emotions freely to anyone who was around. But Eurus was alone, and did not understand, no, did not have any feeling other than mild contentment from an successful experiment - and also, which Mycroft very much doubted his mother ever experienced, cold venomous rage at everything and everyone around her.

She will kill him one day, he was certain, because no one wanted to listen that she is not dangerous due to abundance of intelligence, she is dangerous because of lack of measurable emotions. They were all guinea-pigs to her, really.

When the whole thing came, he was as unprepared as anyone, though. Surely a dead guinea-pig - one I can no longer experiment with - is no use to anything. Surely Victor Trevor still had value as part of her exploration of human behaviour? But "drowned Victor", she said. He was horrified, but also a bit surprised that she said anything, because almost everyone thought that if anyone has to do anything with Victor's disappearance, it is the teenager, not the sweet little girl. Had she kept her mouth shut, everyone would think it was Mycroft who got rid of the ginger boy in a fit of jealousy.

And now, he is much older, and his mother found out that his sister is not dead, and it is is fault, again. Much of what happened s his fault, but he refuses to give her this, refuses to believe that somehow keeping his family safe from a murderous genius was wrong. Should he even bother telling his mother? That maybe, had not Uncle Rudy intervened, his mother would have wasted all her efforts and all of her time on someone who couldn't be helped, instead on focusing on her curly little boy, who was so traumatized by the event he did not even remember. It was Sherlock who deserved attention, not a girl who killed and will inevitably kill again. Can't she see?

Can't she see that he was just trying to be kind? Kind to the boy he knew he could not help otherwise, for Mycroft was terrible with emotions, even worse with expressing them, no use to a hurt little boy. He had no advice for Sherlock how to not be so alone, how to find friends. Because he had little reference.

He will always be like this to his mother. A weird unsociable boy, useless in sports, useless in everything that matters to her.

That is how it is. He almost wishes Sherlock pulled the trigger.


End file.
